


Loveliest

by CodeSeven (Santhe)



Category: Frozen (2013), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Arendelle, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, Royalty, Trust, Winter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 14:36:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6380182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Santhe/pseuds/CodeSeven





	Loveliest

It’s better now, so much better; good enough that sometimes, for a few glorious minutes, Elsa truly believes that she is happy. She knows the secret now, has finally learned how to thaw as well as freeze.  
  
But she is still afraid.  
  
There is only one person who she believes she has ever truly loved. One person who never gave up on her, who went to all lengths to help her, and Elsa nearly killed her not once, but twice.  
  
Anna is healed completely, was saved both times before the ice became irreversible, and she’s happy, too, with her sister back and Kristoff around, two people who love her.  
  
But Elsa is still afraid. She knows how to fix the ice now. But she’s not sure if she will always be able too.  
  
The first incident was a few weeks after their engagement was announced. She approved of Kristoff, she really did, but it still put her on edge, a marriage so soon after the last bungled attempt.  
  
She had been sitting in the library, reading an unfortunate report- bandits, in her kingdom!- when she noticed the edges of the paper splintering under her fingers. Then Anna burst in and grabbed her hand, beaming and whooping over some exploit of Sven, and it startled Elsa. The hand unclaimed by her sister released the ice without her consent, jagged spires that hit the wooden ceiling beams and shattered into frozen fireworks. Anna let go quickly, color draining from her cheeks as her fingers dipped from pink to blue.  
  
Elsa was aghast. She had not hit her sister with the magic, so it took only seconds of a controlled, warmer touch to restore the hands to usual, but from then on she made Anna promise to knock.  
  
She couldn’t risk hurting her again.

  


The second incident almost killed a man.  
  
Elsa, perched on the edge of her desk chair, had been bothered by an insistent banging, which she assumed to be one of the many woodpeckers who loved to nest in all the nooks and crannies of the castle walls.  
  
She had walked to the window, pushed it open, and poked her head out. It was a small window, the eves of the roof actually touching the top of it, close enough for her to rap her knuckles sharply against the metal gutter.  
  
The pounding stopped. Assuming she had scared the bird away, Elsa relaxed and was about to return inside, when someone grabbed her wrist.  
  
“Oi, what’re you doin’ in the palace! I’m tryin’ ter wor-” The several seconds she struggled for control were what allowed his sentence to get that far, but he had startled her too much, and the cold escaped.  
  
The grip on her slackened and he fell, as if in slow motion, over the eve and down, down to the stone courtyard below, hammer still gripped in his hand.  
  
She had come to her senses only just in time, crying out as she sent the soft snow to cushion his fall- so hard to not create ice when she was afraid, so hard to make it fluffy and soft unless she was happy- but she made it, and his landing was soft.  
  
Down in the courtyard, inquiries were shouted for a doctor, for the castle supervisor, and then, once his identity was revealed, for someone to run to town and get the carpenter’s wife. Elsa could only crouch there and shudder, praying that his marriage had been one of true love, not an arranged one, for she had frozen his heart.  
  
They were in luck, this time. A simple kiss warmed his frostbitten body right away, and the young couple accepted Elsa’s apologies gracefully.  
  
Elsa wondered if she could have unfrozen him herself, if she had dared to try.  
  
But she was too scared that she could only make it worse, and that familiar childhood worry began to gnaw at her once more.

  


The third incident hurt the most, because it reminded her so, so much of those early, terror stricken days, forced to hide in her room by her own fear.  
  
It truly wasn’t all that serious. Merely a scout reporting unfavorable news of a ship destroyed by the now hostile Weaselton.  
  
She had spun towards him with a disbelieving “What?!” Yes, she had ceased diplomatic relations with them, but that was no call for an act of violence in which sailors lost their lives.  
  
But when she turned, it had sprung out again. Not at any of the people, thank goodness, but the room was instantly turned to winter, ice coating the floor and walls, tiny, angry snowflakes hailing down in twisted winds at any exposed skin, spiked icicles rattling across the floor.  
  
She had stopped it at once, melted it in seconds, and apologized to her company. She appeared calm, very calm, through an entire conversation over how to proceed in the matter, before quietly excusing herself, explaining that it was late and she needed to sleep.  
  
She collapsed on the balcony outside her room, crying. It was the most private outdoor place she had, facing into the mountains and away from the town.  
  
She had to stop losing control.  
  
A whisper of unfamiliar wind slipped over her neck, and she jerked her head up, immediately silent.  
  
There was no one there. Still, Elsa squinted at railing a few feet to her right.  
  
Ice crystals curled across the stone, growing slowly and gracefully, blooming like flowers towards her.  
  
Her magic should not be coming towards her.  
  
Her magic is supposed to come from her, and move away.  
  
Besides, she had never mastered this kind of ice.  
  
Blinking away the last of the tears, she stands and slips inside, away from the delicate frost.

  


Winter was coming, and she was grateful. Random flakes of her snow would not be nearly as noticeable in a world full of white.  
  
She leans quietly against the doorway, smiling at the look of wonder on the children’s faces as they gaze up at Anna.  
  
It was an interesting little idea Anna had had, allowing school kids field trips into the castle, but Elsa thought it was sweet and she loved watching Anna read fairy tales to them.  
  
This one was a tale of winter, of a playful spirit that danced in the wind and decorated windows in ice crystals. Elsa remembered the tale from when she was little. It was one of the many places her parents had looked when trying to uncover the mystery of her magic. She had, for many years, believed he was real.  
  
One of the children, a little boy with brown hair, waves his hand in the air. “What’s his name?” he asks, pleadingly, as if afraid she won’t answer.  
  
Anna smiles. “Why, we named the loveliest of ice after him! Don’t you know his name?” The boy looks baffled.  
  
“His name is Jack Frost.”  
  
Frost growing towards her across the railing.  
  
Elsa shivers and silently leaves the room

  


She stands on her balcony, looking up at the first snow fall of winter, and dreaming that there is someone else out there who can control the cold.  
  
With snowflakes she didn’t create landing on her nose and ice too delicate for her fingers covering the balcony, for a few minutes, she lets herself believe it.  
  
A soft humming interrupts her day dream, deep and rambling and oddly familiar.  
  
It silences the minute she turns around and lets her dreams escape.  
  
Walking towards the door, skirts shuffling lightly in the flakes, she hesitates. Someone was humming, and it wasn’t her.  
  
It starts again.  
  
Her breath quickens. Slowly, barely breathing, she turns.  
  
A boy sits on the railing, leaning against the stone, a long, crooked staff in his pale fingers. Her eyes sweep over the bleached hair, the half-closed eyes, the blue and brown clothing. The ice sprouting along the stone everywhere it touches him.  
  
“How did you get there?” she whispers.  
  
The humming stops. His eyes slide open and slowly, slowly, his head turns, and he stares at her in disbelief.  
  
She stares back evenly, but a slight shiver runs up her spine. His eyes are as blue as her own.  
  
“Can you see me?” he asks, cocking his head slightly.  
  
Slowly, she nods, still shaking.  
  
“It’s okay,” he says quietly, “Um… didn’t mean to startle you… I’m Jack Frost.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
He blinks at her, smiling crookedly, and hops down onto the stone. Despite the snow, his feet are bare. He walks forward until he’s just a couple feet from Elsa, eyes flicking over her face.  
  
“I’m Elsa.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Very hesitantly, she returns his smile, because she still isn’t sure who he is. Not completely. But his next question surprises her.  
  
“Why were you crying the other day? The last time I was here?”  
  
She doesn’t know why she trusts him. She doesn’t really care, either.  
  
“I made it snow.”  
  
“That’s nothing to cry over. Not for us.”  
  
“It is when I don’t do it on purpose.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I could hurt someone. You must know that- don’t you have that problem?”  
  
“What, worry about hurting people? Or making it snow?”  
  
“…both?”  
  
“Only one out of two, then. There’s nothing wrong with making it snow.”  
  
A knock sounds on her door. “Queen Elsa!”  
  
Jack takes a step back, still smiling. “See you around, Elsa.”  
  
When he jumps off the ledge, she cries out. But he soars away like a bird.  
  
Shivering, she quietly goes to answer the door.

  


It’s been a month.  
  
A month since he visited.  
  
Two weeks since the wedding.  
  
One week since she lost control and left shards of ice over the grand staircase.  
  
Half an hour since the news of another raid from Weaselton reached her palace.  
  
She wants him to come back, but she doesn’t know why.  
  
She sits where he sat, staring up at the moon, blinking tears out of her eyes.  
  
She had had no idea how late it was. The toll of the midnight bell was what had made her jump. And now she knows why she shouldn’t have sat on that ledge unless she could fly.  
  
Down, down, windows and stone flashing by, too petrified to scream or act as the ground flies towards her.  
  
But she doesn’t reach it. Arms curl under her shoulders and legs, slowing the fall, carrying her back up to the balcony.  
  
She’s crying, and she doesn’t know why.  
  
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Elsa, it’s alright, you’re safe. There’s no need to cry.”  
  
She’s on his lap, cradled between his legs as he leans against the wall. “Elsa, what’s wrong? You… you didn’t jump, did you?”  
  
She shakes her head. “N-no, of course not.”  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?” he says, breath ruffling her hair.  
  
She shakes her head. “It’s just been a rough few weeks,” she whispers.  
  
He holds her a moment more and she lets him, nose pressed into a shoulder that smells more like an evergreen than a human. Then she shifts and he lets go, lets her slip to the side and lean with him against the wall.  
  
And she doesn’t know why, still, but suddenly she is talking about it, telling him how she misses her sister, who’s away on the honeymoon, how she doesn’t know what do to about the attacking kingdoms and the shortage of food and the bandits and she’s worried about her people and she missed him, and she doesn’t know how to completely control her powers but she can’t afford to make any more mistakes, and she thought she’d figured it out but it just wasn’t working.  
  
“I’m scared.”  
  
She couldn’t have admitted it any other way than that- watching the snowy shadows shifting behind the balcony, comfortably cold and leaning slightly into a boy who nodded and listened and drifted snow about them with every move.  
  
He hushes her and tells her it’s going to be okay.  
  
Somehow, she believes him.

  


She must have fallen asleep like that, curled against someone too cold to be chilled by her.  
  
When she wakes, the sun is just starting to peak through her window. She’s under the blue sheets of her bed, still in the dress from the day before.  
  
Someone is humming.  
  
Her eyes fly the rest of the way open, and she jerks a little before remembering. Turning her head, she sees him, leaning against the head board on the far side of the queen sized bed.  
  
He looks half asleep himself, eyes shut, legs crossed and relaxed over the covers, running his fingers over the knotted wood of his staff.  
  
“Jack?” she whispers, careful to stay quite enough to not alarm anyone outside.  
  
He blinks back to full awareness and grins at her. “Hey.”  
  
She sits up, pulling out from under the covers with a yawn, not nearly alarmed enough by the boy in her room. “Didn’t want to fly off yesterday?”  
  
He shrugs. “I didn’t want to wake you. But I thought I should say goodbye.”  
  
“You’re leaving?” Disappointment creeps unbidden into her voice.  
  
“I’ve got a job, Elsa. It’s winter! Can’t disappoint the kids. If you’re okay, that is.” He adds the last sentence with ease, lifting his hand slightly as if to brush at her hair, but thinks better of it at the last second and looks down at his staff, a light blush blooming onto his cheeks.  
  
She almost laughs, but in the interest of not scaring him of, takes his hand instead. He flinches a little at her touch, but doesn’t pull away. “I’m fine, Jack. Thank you.”  
  
His blush, so noticeable with his pale complexion, gets even darker as he looks at their brushing fingers. When she lets go, he flies lightly off the bed and spins around to smirk at her from the doorway. “I’ll be back to Arendelle in a few weeks, probably.”  
  
She smiles as he soars off the balcony, calling back in a voice barely distinguishable from the wind “Good luck, Elsa!”  
  
She stands and dresses quietly, mind whirring over the problems she had told to Jack yesterday.  
  
Somehow knowing he would be returning makes them all seem easier to bare.


End file.
